Seagrave
by Bonerjam
Summary: An old man uncovers new magic abilities.


I pulled a small vial from my coat pocket and set it carefully on the cobblestone alley. It rolled a few inches on the rough surface before I found a nice crack to stick it in. Next I spat onto the ground. From the muck I pulled the gum arabic. I set a sack of pebbles in front of myself. Lastly, I filled my pipe. With a snap of my fingers the small forest was set alight. As I blew the flame off my fingertips the vial I had placed earlier was blown free, and once again began to roll away. My boot blocked it's path; the vial clinked softly on the hard sole. Finally I grabbed the vial, tore the cork with my teeth and poured the thick silver slime onto the gum. A wisp of smoke was the last ingredient. I took a big puff off my pipe and let the smoke spew over the gum and mercury. The smoke spread across the ground and slowly began to swirl around the concoction. Immediately I gathered myself, cupped my hands around the ball of smoke and began to chant to it. One end of the sphere began to expand and swirl towards the sack of pebbles at my lap. My words coerced the smoke forth; branches of swirling fog engulfed the sack. A new sphere of smoke formed around the sack, and a faint light began to shine from within. The light grew ever brighter as the smoke began to fade. Pebbles could now be heard rattling within; Clacking together like marbles. Finally the light began to fade. The clacking had now morphed into a mettalic ting as the contents of the sack continued to shake. After a few moments the sack became still. The once blinding light had completely extinguished, and the smoke had cleared. I grabbed the bag, raised it to my ear and gave it a good shake. The delightful sounds of coin danced within. I overturned the bag and let the contents tumble into my palm. Glorious pieces of silver spilled from the sack, filling my palm and overflowing onto the cobblestones below. I couldn't control my excitement at the sight. After months of experimentation, this was my first success. Usually a bag of destroyed stones was all I could produce. I scrambled to get the coins back together and put them back in the sack. I hadn't carried a hefty coinpurse in quite some time.

I made my way into the market; weaving through travellers, vendors, townsfolk and dock workers. Kept a careful eye out for guards and clergy, either of whom could run me out of town on sight. Edmond Write, an old friend I used to sail with, owned his own stand at the market. He put up fresh fish in the morning straight off the fishing boats as well as salted cuts of various local wildlife in the evenings. His venison cuts were fairly well known throughout the market for their quality. He had a steady supply come in from an odd group of hunters who claiming to be exploring the dissapoearing forest. The deer they had brought back was far more succulent than the local variety. Their appearance was rather gloomish also. Their fur was a dark charcoal color on their backs and and atop their heads. They grew thick, twisted gray beards beneath their mouths and along their necks, and the males sported magnificent flourushing gnarled antlers, which Edmond hung from the front of his stall to impress visitors. He had even come up with a clever little name for the popular venison slices; the " _Write_ _Cuts."_ I could hear him shouting about them before his stall was even in sight. "Make sure... that you get the " _Write Cuts! Finest venison from the dissappearing forest!"_ My mouth watered just thinking about them, although I had never even tasted one. Finally I could see his stand through the crowd; he spotted me and waved me over with a smile on his face. "Seagrave my friend, come and have a chat with me!" I nodded towards him and made my way closer. To put it bluntly, Edmond was a bulbous man with a fat neck and a big smile. There was a dip in the surface of the wood stall just from where he had been leaning on it. He had never been fit. Even when we sailed together he was a rotund man at best, though he was quite powerful to contest his lack of physique. "Seagrave, your beard grows thick yet you have grown thin. What troubles you lately?" I hadn't actually seen Edmond in some time. I had mostly been sticking to the Warrens since I lost my home. I didn't have the money to visit the market until now. Come to think of it I don't beleive he was even aware of my circumstances, and I wasn't about to drag the events of these past few months into conversation. I'd have to come up with some story, say I've been out for a hunt for some time and have just returned.

Edmond and I chatted for some time. He caught me up on the events of his life recently, and I conjured up a few great tales and fables from this ever bountiful hunt I'd just been on. He was selling his _Write Cuts_ for five silver each, but for me just three silver a piece. I bought three cuts and bid him farewell.

I didn't have a pack so I carried the parchment-wrapped cuts in my arms. Past workshops, down alleyways, and through the slums I made my way back to the warrens. The warrens were a large system of tunnels and cellars built beneath the slums of the city. They were built by a wealthy dock manager to provide free housing to his workers, though often the poor and vagrant folk of town would also find their way here in times of trouble. We still managed to maintain a decent community down below. Most workers did what they could to help one another get by when there was no work to be found. Rumor floated around town of a secret party of rogues formed beneath the city, quietly filling the halls of the warrens with stolen goods and coin, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. If there were any thruth to thus rumor or not, I'd prefer not to discuss. Those are stories for another time. I was eager to bring these cuts to share with my community. There were two entrances to the warrens; one in the slums beneath the old sawmill, and another at the docks. We kept a guard stationed at the slums entrance, while the dock was left alone. One of the tunnels on the dock side had nearly collapsed, and the community decided it should no longer be traveled. This meant workers had to take the longer walk through town to get to the docks.

I recognized the guard that was out that evening. Grimroy Tellar, a man that used to work with the town guard before a raider split his shin with a sledgehammer.

As I came closer he recognized who I was, and shouted towards me. "Seagrave! i'm glad you're here. There's a bit of a situation down below, Crowley has been asking for you all day." Well damn. I had thought what with the successful spellcasting and the fresh venison I'd acquired I thought for sure tonight would be a pretty nice evening. Now that I know Crowley wants something from me, my evening could go south in a flash.

-TBC


End file.
